


Inked

by Alleycatsandwolves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Ink Kink, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Freeform, Smut, Tattoo Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alleycatsandwolves/pseuds/Alleycatsandwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has get's to see the full extent of john's tattoo's... it seems Sherlock wants to do more than see. some smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inked

John had tattoos. John knew Sherlock knew about them. He kept them hidden under thick jumpers and long jackets but he knew Sherlock knew because he was Sherlock for Christ sake besides they lived together, so of course Sherlock had glimpsed them but unlike his flat mate john wasn’t one to let himself be overly exposed so Sherlock hadn’t really seen all of them, besides his tattoos were personal and he didn’t need any snide comments about the stupidity of tattoos. 

 

He knew Sherlock would see the tattoos and it really didn’t take long for him to either, he just didn’t anticipate Sherlock’s reaction to john’s them.

 

John had stepped out of the shower and ran into Sherlock on his way to his room. His bare chest was exposed as well as his arms and Sherlock could see the full extent of john’s various tattoos. There was a quote across the left side of his chest swirling black artwork moving up and down his arms. John assumed Sherlock would stare and probably spend a moment deducing the origin and reason for every mark. Instead he stalked towards john like a lion prowls towards prey. Reaching out a hand he ran his fingers over john’s arms tracing the patterns of the black swirling ink, moving from his arms to his chest letting is fingers glide over the smooth muscled planes of his chest.

 

John stood stock still fighting the flush if his cheeks. Sherlock’s fingers were callused but gentle as they brushed his skin; Sherlock’s alabaster white against john’s tanned body was something john couldn’t take his eyes off of, he watched utterly still as his gentle fingers and intense Technicolor eyes ravaged his body with the same intensity Sherlock would give the most fascinating of corpses. John felt as if he was under the microscope and he wasn’t complaining. 

Sherlock’s fingers continued to study his body and his eyes continued to ravage him until they reached his hip. For a moment his eyes were glued to the ink that peaked out from under the edge of his towel and it was obvious Sherlock wanted to touch it. Sadly it seemed at that moment that he’d snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in and took a long step backwards turning on his heels and striding away. Leaving john to stand in the middle of the hallway nearly naked and very confused.

***************************************************** 

The incident went unmentioned for a week but it was etched into john’s memory, the brush of gentle pale fingers, the way his body shivered a moment after Sherlock walked away, like aftershock. Sherlock’s touch was imprinted on his mind and he wanted to experience again. and again and again. Sherlock’s examining eyes and gentle fingers became the subject of many a nights dreams. And more than once he’d woken up hard and aching for that touch but Sherlock seemed to be pretending it never happened and it was driving john out of his mind.

 

Sherlock seemed perfectly content to ignore the situation. John wasn’t even sure if Sherlock considered it a situation just a mild friendly molestation really, and what was wrong with that, other than that john couldn’t get it out of his head. He watched his flat mate with budding curiosity and arousal. And he found himself wearing his long sleeve shirts less and less often. It became a daily habit to walk around in short sleeve or sleeveless shirts with V-necks just hoping to catch Sherlock’s attention again (just hoping for another friendly groping). He had the feeling Sherlock may have had a thing for tattoo's...

*********************************

“The rose” Sherlock blurted aloud one morning seemingly out of no where

“What?” john asked taken off guard.

He sat adjacent to Sherlock who was stretched out across the couch in his usual fashion. John was reading a book in a well fitted tank top.

“What?” john asked taken off guard? 

“Of all your tattoos it’s the one I don’t understand”

“Thought about them often have you”

“About as often as you’ve thought of me touching them” Sherlock answered quickly. John didn’t have time to flush before Sherlock was talking again “The art work on your arms are simple. the pocket watch on the side of your right shoulder with the chain running down to your elbow, was a trinket your grandfather used to carry right? He gave it to you before he passed I’ve seen it in your dresser. And the bull on your left shoulder, I’m guessing it was you nickname from your military days, it makes enough sense you do tend to rush head long into dangerous situation though I do think you do it more gracefully than a bull. And the quote in your chest “courage is grace under pressure” Hemingway yes. It fits you well, you seem to measure your worth by your courage, and it fits your love of literature. But the rose, the rose on your hip, I don’t get it. You’re not the kind of man to get meaningless tattoos but I can’t figure out the-“

“Sherlock if you ever stopped talking I may be able to tell you” john interrupted. John had already suspected Sherlock would deduce all the meanings behind his tattoos and he shouldn’t have been surprised he made out the rose from underneath his towel.

“It’s for a friend Sherlock a mentor, I lost her when I was in Afghanistan. I was overseas and when I came back she had died of heart cancer. Her name was rose.

Sherlock was sitting up and looking at john now “oh” there was a pause of silence after john’s explanation and john was watching him closely, with that intensity from the week before, when he was exposed, and under the microscope of Sherlock Holmes. He crossed his legs trying to hide his arousal, but he couldn’t hide the flush in his cheeks.

“Sherlock um, do you want to see them?” john asked innocently  
Sherlock watched him, carefully taking in the flush of his skin, his crossed legs, the taping of his fingers.

“I…would like to see them” Sherlock said standing, moving slowly towards john’s prowling again, it took all john’s self-control not to shiver at the sight. Sherlock reached john in two long strides and stood over him with a wolfish smile ghosting on his lips. He sank to his knees in front of john and gently took the bottom of his shirt letting his fingertips brush the edge of his abdomen. He lifted the material over his head exposing the whole of his abdomen and chest, and the curving black ink that marked it.   
John sat stone still while Sherlock examined him, he reached out his alabaster fingers and proceeded to run them over john’s chest specifically the quote 

/courage is grace under pressure/ 

 

He had it carved into his left pectoral muscle. “Courage is grace under pressure” Sherlock mumbled feeling the words with his fingers, the slight raise of them, like scarring that never fully healed, a beautiful scar, derived from just enough calculated pain to make art.  
And the quote fit John perfectly because if courage really was grace under pressure John Watson was the most graceful man he knew  
Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his lips to the curving black ink and john shivered. The feel of Sherlock’s pink Cupid’s bow lips pressed gently to his skin. He let his tongue slip from his mouth and trace the ink, the taste of John, the taste of warm flesh and calculated pain and salty skin. The taste was…perfect. And john’s soft moaning at the slight touch made it that much better. Sherlock moved to john’s arm, the pocket watch with the running gold chain etched into his toned triceps, it was black and laced with gold. It was drawn accurately, Sherlock had seen the watch before tucked away in his drawer and the tattoo was made in its spitting image. The light tracing of gold around the edges and the watch as well as around the hands. The rest was a sharp black, there was even a crack drawn down the face. There was care put into this tattoo, it was specific. Sherlock ran his tongue over the art. Long and lavish. He moved his tongue across john’s his skin tasting him. Tracing the watch delicately with the tip of his tongue. Tasting the work put into the art.

By the time Sherlock moved to the rose john had his head back, his eyes closed and his fingers laced in Sherlock’s hair, his erection was obvious but Sherlock was busy elsewhere at the moment. He was biting his bottom lip and shuddered with every touch of Sherlock’s tongue. It was more than he could’ve imagined.

 

Sherlock unzipped john’s jeans and pulled them down to his ankles to get the full view of john’s hip, for a moment he appraised john’s tented boxers and smiled just slightly before focusing on the rose. It was intricately done, whoever made it should’ve been proud. There was obvious definition of the petals, it was gray and black the petals were thin and wilted and the slight curve in the drooping petals. A dying flower how poetic. The woman must’ve been special.  
Sherlock pursed his lips around the flower and sucked. He let the pad of his tongue lavish the intricately designed rose. It was directly on the hip joint, it must’ve hurt immensely to get and it was in such an intimate place, yet john let him touch it, taste it, he could taste the intense intimacy on his tongue. John was throbbing now. He was so wound up for Sherlock it almost hurt. He was panting now, whispering him name and pulling gently on Sherlock’s hair. 

 

Sherlock leaned back on his haunches to take in the sight of a writhing, lusting john head back and moaning. Sherlock ran his fingers gently down john’s body just to watch him shiver, Sherlock was hard enough to fuck through steel. Sherlock took john’s boxers pulled them down to expose john’s throbbing length.   
Sherlock pressed his lips to the tip teasingly, john’s breath spiked another notch and Sherlock smiled and licked the tip of his erection.

 

“Sherlock /please/” john begged. Sherlock sucked the tip of his throbbing erection and john groaned. 

 

John had been content to lean his head back and just experience the feel of Sherlock’s beautiful lips pressed against his body and his soft pink tongue pressed against his skin /tasting/ him. He was content to grip his silk curls and feel his wet tongue. But now he was watching. He watched as Sherlock’s head moved slowly back and forth on his prick. Sherlock’s warm mouth sucking john’s hard length. He watched Sherlock take his own prick in his hand and start to stroke. When Sherlock swirled his tongue around his cock john nearly watched it.

“Oh god /Sherlock/” he cried tightening his fingers in Sherlock’s curls guiding his head. He watched as Sherlock slowly stroked his own prick with one hand and ran his fingers over his john’s hip tattoo with the other. Sherlock moaned around john’s cock and came with a shudder. The sight sent john tumbling over the edge.

They each sat trying to catch their breath. Sherlock leaned back on his haunches still breathing heavily. And john let his head roll back feeling to content to bother trying to redress himself.

After a pause of silence Sherlock pulled his head up to look at john. And smirked. At the indecency and the enjoyment his smirk turned into a full blown smile. And Sherlock smiled too. He smiled at john’s smile, at his big dopey grin and for a moment they just sat there smiling. But at some point Sherlock stood up and john re-adjusted his trousers but left his shirt off. He pulled Sherlock by the hand into his lap and pressed a kiss to his lips. And for a while they just sat that way, relaxed in each-other’s arms.


End file.
